


It Means What It Means

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (GOD THANK YOU BLUNT CHARACTERS JEEZ), (and? barking? youd have to watch what this is from), (bc this is a gold mine of an anime for fusion building), (but its not what you think), (but its talked about and v open bc they CAN TALK TO EACH OTHER), (i promise its not bullshit like no homo and huge tsundere crap), (im not sure how i feel about that not being a real tag), ... i should work on that, Alternate Universe - Kaichou Wa Maid-Same Fusion, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Denial, Unresolved Romantic Tension, aftermath of LOTS of running around, i never write anything without the fbomb somewhere, jean and marcos friendship relationship whatever it is is complicated, uh? some cussing but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean should know better than to go somewhere alone with Marco. He doesn't know what's going through the guy's head, or what he means when he does or says something, even if it should be straightforward. </p><p>But he trusts him. And he has no reason not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Means What It Means

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Achrya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/gifts).



> For you, for the stuff we talked about with the... muffins... and other things... and because hey, I just saw you posted the vampire thing! Good job!!
> 
> Everyone else, I'd say I'm sorry for this AU, but I'm not. This show is so sily and just obnoxious, but like? I love it? And I've been wanting to do an AU for it, but I hadn't, so when I saw [this scene](https://youtu.be/D0YibKlkoI8?t=19m20s) when I was rewatching it, I thought, "Hey! Tree make outs! Let's do that as an 'I'm sorry all our conversations turn this way one way or another' gift!"
> 
> I... uh, I didn't quite get to tree make outs. You'll see.
> 
> [Music.](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=K-rboatMpXc#Ed_Sheeran_%2B_Kiss_Me_Lyrics) This makes it a lot better? I guess? Adds a different tone, especially if you keep it as this soft hum and just let Ed serenade you to bliss.

                “Surprised” to see Marco outside of the girls’ cabin, waiting for him, was a bit of an understatement. Sure, before it would have been normal, when he couldn’t go anywhere without the guy at his side, claiming he just enjoyed being around Jean (what a load of _bullshit_ ), but lately he had seemed to be more interested in… watching him from afar, than anything else. He would pop up when he thought best (usually when it was the worst for Jean’s head), but otherwise just keep to himself, his unwavering gaze being the only way Jean even knew he hadn’t just decided to drop him like yesterday’s news.

 

                Not that, of course, it would be of any issues to Jean if Marco decided it wasn’t fun to play their little “games” anymore. He had been trying to get rid of the asshole since he had just popped up and claimed a place in Jean’s life. It had been – still was – frustrating.

 

                “I didn’t think I’d see you way over here,” Jean admitted as he took the steps down, hand on the railing. Marco looked up from where he was leaning against the tree and his lips curled into that familiar half-smile he seemed to always have when Jean willingly talked to him.

 

                (He didn’t put much stock into it. It was easy to fake a smile; he did it every day. Not even just for work, either.)

 

                In reply, Marco curled a finger towards himself and jerked his head to the other trees, where the forest got thicker. “Come with me,” and when Jean only raised his eyebrows back at him, he added, mouth twitching briefly, “Please.”

 

                Once upon a time, Jean might’ve murmured back _at least you have manners_. Once upon a time, Jean might’ve fought him on going – into a lonely thicket no less, with no one around, especially with that _look_ in his eyes. It wasn’t like that anymore, he trusted Marco now. Yes, he was still _annoying_ and unreadable and whatever he was before, _he_ hadn’t changed, but he’d proven himself to be worth the time he did happen to take from Jean. Sometimes.

 

                Marco made a good errand boy and the fact that he was so invested in his teasing that he would do almost (he did have limits, Jean learned, unhappily) anything Jean asked of him made him quite helpful in that respect, Jean would give him that.

 

                (He didn’t _hate_ Marco, but he didn’t _like_ him either.)

 

                (And why would he? Why would anyone? He was so _bothersome_ and _intrusive_ and he _worried so goddamn much_.)

 

                (Jean could take care of himself. He didn’t need Marco jumping in like some unasked-for knight in white, throwing himself at everything that Jean struggled with. He didn’t _ask_ for this martyr.)

 

                ( _God_ , and if he knew it wasn’t a fucking _joke_ to him, it might’ve been _something else_ , but it wasn’t and -)

 

                Apparently deciding they were far enough inside the trees to talk, Marco halted completely and looked over at him, hands shoved in his pockets under his borrowed raincoat. “You think too loudly, Jean,” he muttered, and moved to turn fully towards him. “You’re still thinking about what happened out there with those boys, aren’t you?”

 

                With a tired snort (he knew where this was going), he leaned back against the tree he had stopped beside and rolled his head up to stare at Marco through his lashes, “I told you it was nothing earlier, and here you are, still worrying.” He rolled his eyes and glanced off with a sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

 

                It was responses like this that best riled Marco up. It was how he knew how to play the game back with him, to maybe get ahead. Marco always floundered, did or said things unpredictably whenever he acted bored and terse with him, too comfortable to be of their usual conversations.

 

                It was nice to sometimes tease instead of being teased. And he wouldn’t do it with anyone else – no one else deserved it like Marco did.

 

                Swallowing (Jean watched the movement of his throat with widened eyes: it was almost as if he had caught Marco _off-guard_ ), Marco looked at the ground and paused, obviously thinking over his words. He must have been truly exhausted by the lack of actual food and overload of work from the shrine, as it never took him so long to think of a reply, even when Jean messed with him back. It was always quick, witty, but somehow impossibly calculated.

 

                “Maybe because you also said it to _him_ , too,” he whispered to the ground, before looking up at Jean, eyes flicking between his own. “So it couldn’t have been important.”

 

                Jean frowned at him, suddenly more confused than anything else. What on _earth_ did that even _mean_? “Are you saying that it somehow shouldn’t apply to you just because it wasn’t specialized instructions?”

 

                Any normal person would’ve backed down from the confrontation, but Marco wasn’t normal. He was strange and off and _alien_ , and instead, his little smile turned into a smirk as he stepped closer. His voice was still quiet like before, but it had that touch of confidence that always made Jean want to roll his eyes and to tell him to direct it somewhere else when he said, “Obviously.”

 

                Jean only pursed his lips, not really wanting to dignify that with a response. Marco had made his move and there wasn’t really anything he could do to counter it but to disregard it or Marco would be saying something else so silly and absurd to throw him off.

 

                He shuffled closer and Jean inched to the left so he could lean against the tree on his shoulder as he stared down at him like he loved to do in the school halls or back alleyways. Watching as Marco’s gaze slid slowly over his form, something he likely couldn’t see much of because of his body-sized raincoat, he fidgeted against the tree and crossed his arms. Marco was about to say something stupid; something that sounded like it was so big and mighty and full of meaning, but Jean knew it wasn’t, since it came from _him_. If it came from Marco, it would always be some kind of _tease_ and _joke_ and it wouldn’t mean anything (not that he would want it to, because it wasn’t like Marco was anything to him but a glorified personal assistant that just kind of hired himself (with no pay?) to Jean’s side), so he just learned to ignore it.

 

                “I’ve always been on a different plane with you than other people when it came to your attention,” as he spoke, Marco reached forward to tuck his bent fingers under Jean’s jaw to tilt it up and towards himself, but Jean’s hand had jerked out to grab his wrist, stopping the motion, even if he didn’t pull Marco’s hand from him. Still, Marco let out a puff of air, almost amused, and continued, “Haven’t I?”

 

                See? Stupid. As _if_ Jean revered Marco differently than everyone else just because he often did things that warranted unique reactions.

 

                Jean said nothing, pointedly not looking at him, and after a moment, Marco stretched out his fingers far enough to brush against his neck and Jean let go. As he pulled his hand back, Marco leaned into him more, and Jean swallowed, pressing himself into the tree, as if the poking in his back would help him concentrate. “So when you say something to me and address other people in it too, then I wonder if that means that they’re special just like me.” He paused and Jean’s eyes picked the very moment that he was licking his lips to look up before fleeing to some other sight. “Is _he_ special to you too, Jean?”

 

                “No,” he murmured, not even looking at Marco, because _really_? Of course “ _he_ ” wasn’t special to Jean, he hadn’t ever been, not even when they were kind of friends as children. It was always that the boy had taken to following Jean around like a _certain someone else_ and somehow ended up in trouble that Jean had to rescue him from. It was just _silly_ , seeing this pissing contest between them when it wasn’t like Marco was really rivaled in any way –

 

– not that he wasn’t, either. Because it wasn’t like the guy was going after Marco’s place as the thorn in Jean’s side that he had to deal with, because who would really want to be? He didn’t even know why _Marco_ liked to bother him like he did –

 

                “No,” he sighed, voice firmer as he rubbed his temple and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “If anything, he’s just a bothersome child I find myself looking after. However,” he dropped his hand to look up at Marco and give him his best smirk (even if it probably looked as tired as he was getting to be with this conversation), “If anything, _you’re_ the more annoying one, even if I don’t really have to _look after_ you.”

 

                If he was really expecting any certain kind of response from Marco because of those words, because of his jab, it certainly wasn’t seeing Marco’s eyes widen like Jean had just told him some riddle and he had figured it out. It certainly wasn’t seeing his smile grow large and genuine as he jerked forward and crowded into Jean’s _personal space_ , elbows on either side of him on the tree trunk.

 

                It wasn’t until he was close enough that their chests were pressed together, that his nose, tilted up in surprise to see Marco’s quick movement, was brushing against Marco’s own, that he could see the way Marco’s hair fell forward when he looked down, that Marco fucking _purred_ , “Do you have something you meant by that,” he took in a breath and Jean’s hands flexed by his sides, “Or do you want me to guess?”

 

                (Marco was too good at the game. There was no way Jean could have ever hoped to beat him.)

 

                He didn’t know why he thought he could even trust him to not pull something like this. It was apparently too much to ask for Marco not to mess with him and _yet_ , he still found himself thinking it was a good idea to go places alone with him. Maybe there was something wrong with _him_ , too.

 

                Right as he was about to say something back, probably something about the lines of how _it means exactly what it fucking means, you dipshit_ , Marco pressed closer, slotting a leg between Jean’s own (which he tried to clamp together in surprise, ending in squeezing his thighs around the side of one of Marco’s), and he snapped his mouth shut. He could feel the burn in his skin despite the fact that there was no sun even close to coming into direct contact with it, and he knew Marco could feel it too, radiating off of him, judging from the way he was grinning like he was a kid who just got away with a lie.

 

                Even in his embarrassment, he couldn’t look away. His hands had jumped back to brace themselves against the tree he was pressed against, but then everything stilled, and it felt like the little parts of him were the only things that moved in the entire forest. His eyes couldn’t keep to one place on Marco’s face, but they couldn’t move anywhere else, his heart was _thrumming_ in his chest, his mouth kept producing too much saliva which he had to keep swallowing, throat squeezing with every gulp, and his breathing was picking up, coming out through his nose faster than before and fanning over Marco’s mouth –

 

                He shouldn’t have looked at Marco’s mouth, because the second he did, he couldn’t stop.

 

                (Was this another part of Marco’s game? To pretend he was going to kiss him and move away at the last second, laughing about how Jean had wanted it? It didn’t seem like anything he had pulled, but Jean couldn’t put anything passed him. Not when there was the chance that it could fuck him over – not that Marco ever had, but Jean still wasn’t sure what he _was_ always doing.)

 

                After a few seconds of Jean staring at his mouth, Marco moved, tilting his head slowly closer, tongue slipping out to wet and part his lips. It was slow and dramatic, alone and under a _tree_ , like everything Jean imagined it would be, everything the movies led it to be, with all their buildups.

 

                Or, it would have been.

 

                It would have been if Jean’s nerves hadn’t finally kicked in; eyes widening, hands jerking up and forwards to land on Marco’s shoulders and press downwards to hold in him place, mouth wheezing out the word, “ _Wait-_ ”

 

                Because it wasn’t his first kiss (surprise, surprise, Marco owned that one as well, because he’s an asshole who apparently kisses people on rooftops just to fuck around or something), because he wasn’t sure what Marco was trying to accomplish with _this_ , because Jean didn’t want a kiss that didn’t matter. The first one he hadn’t really gotten to think about (too busy freaking out over the way that Marco would look at him and all he could think about was his _mouth_ and how every time they touched in any way his skin would go warm all over), but after he had time to, he had decided to throw it out as his _first_ and decide that the next one he would have would be the memorable one, the one that would matter.

 

                And he wasn’t going to let Marco mess _that_ up, either.

 

                But Marco paused, waiting like he was supposed to, asked to, and pulled back to look at him. His fingers pressed harder into Marco’s raincoat, into the fabric upon seeing the look of _concern_ on Marco’s face, void of amusement or confidence, like he was worried he had done something wrong or that Jean was uncomfortable somehow and it was just –

 

                “Alright,” Marco broke him out of his thoughts, voice deeper than usual and… _distracted_ , before he cleared his throat, looking away. He hadn’t moved out of Jean’s space, their legs were still tangled together, and Marco’s elbows were still walling him against the tree, but Jean didn’t feel any immediate desire to push him away. In fact, he didn’t move at all, aside from loosening his pressure on Marco’s shoulders to just resting his palms there, and after a few seconds of what looked like he was thinking something out, Marco himself moved again.

 

                He leaned forward again, but when Jean started to say his name, confused, heartrate picking up again, he realized that he was only moving close enough to rest his forehead against Jean’s own shoulder. “You tire me out, Jean,” he mouthed into the air next to Jean’s neck, and added, “I don’t think I can move.”

 

                Letting out a snort, something both humored and relieved, Jean was about to say that they could stand there for a little bit, just doing… whatever it was that they were doing, but when his arms twisted around Marco’s neck, settling there in a more comfortable position, one of a hug, and Marco pressed closer at the action, he found he instead was saying, “The boys’ barbeque is probably over, but I think they’re about to start the girls’, if you want to ask if they’ll let us in.”

 

                Marco only shook his head, the ends of a few hairs drifting back and forth over Jean’s neck, which made him bite his lip to keep from twitching at the movements.

 

                “I guess standing under the trees it is,” Jean mused aloud, and swallowed down his smile – even if Marco couldn’t see it – when he felt a rumble of a chuckle from the chest pressed to his own, and breathed against his skin. When he didn’t get a _voiced_ response to that, he busied himself with fiddling with the hood of Marco’s raincoat and wondered if Marco snored when he slept.

 

                Marco only laughed again when he asked the question out loud.

**Author's Note:**

> What even is dialogue? Where did I get mine? I think from some big trash yard, it's very likely. Sorry about that.
> 
> [This](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/) is my snk/writing blog. [THIS ONE](http://acharyadiako.tumblr.com/) is Acharya's (which is.... more about snk and writing than mine is).
> 
> Here, you can get [a link to the rebloggable version](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/144585400458/in-apology-for-everything-to-do-with-the-cockbook) of this fic. 
> 
> If you liked this, think about checking out the show with this [first episode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=za8SD9MsGk8) and maybe leave a kudos/comment? That would be cool. Thanks for reading, I hope you have a good day!


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